


dans la nuit

by andchaos



Category: Shameless (US)
Genre: Domestic Bliss, Domestic Fluff, Explicit Sexual Content, Fluff, Future Fic, M/M, Prompt Fic, Sweet Kisses
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-08-26
Updated: 2015-08-26
Packaged: 2018-04-17 09:12:31
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,496
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4660980
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/andchaos/pseuds/andchaos
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>There's baking and there's sex and there's a lot of sweet kisses, and it's all at a ridiculous hour of the morning.</p>
            </blockquote>





	dans la nuit

**Author's Note:**

  * For [osborns](https://archiveofourown.org/users/osborns/gifts).



> For [Lily](http://hadenromero.tumblr.com), for (a slight modification to) the prompt, “It’s 2am but you’re craving cake and we’re both up anyway so let’s bake in our underwear au” because...? writing each other fics is fun?

          Mickey knew as soon as he awoke that it was far too early for him to be up. He knew as soon as he opened his eyes that it was far too early for even Ian to be awake, and that just because his boyfriend liked to go on runs that let him jog with the rising sun, his side of the bed should still be occupied for at least another few hours. The clock on his nightstand read 2:13 and Mickey was therefore confused as to why, exactly, there was no body heat pressing along his back, no arm snaking around his waist, no irritatingly loud snores being snuffled into his ear. It was only mid-spring, and therefore far too cold for a man who slept only in boxers not to have his boyfriend curled around him.

          He could hear slight commotion outside their bedroom and figured that he should probably check it out. More likely than not Ian had woken up, decided to watch some TV to lull himself back to sleep, and had left his show on through the night, so at the very least Mickey could get him a blanket and turn off the television before their electric bill rocketed any higher (somehow his bill was higher sharing an apartment with just Ian than it had ever been when he lived at home with a handful of siblings). At worst, well—they had a baseball bat hidden underneath the couch.

          Ian wasn’t asleep when he stumbled his way into the other room, however; the kitchen light was on, though dimmed, and Mickey rubbed at his eyes as he shuffled to their little kitchen nook.

          “Hey,” Ian said, far too brightly, when he noticed Mickey standing in the doorway. He had flour all down the front of his shirt and was holding a box in one hand and a single egg in the other.

          Mickey stared at him, eyes narrowed both against the light and Ian’s audacity at being up at two in the goddamn morning.

          “The fuck is this?” he grunted.

          Ian shrugged and turned his focus back to the mess on the counter in front of him. A light blush covered his cheeks, immediately catching Mickey’s interest, and he edged closer to get a better look at what was going on. Ian looked up at him sheepishly as he stepped to the side to give him room to process the mess before him.

          “Are you…” Mickey dipped his hand into the largest bowl on the counter, pinched a bit of its contents between his fingers, and tasted the concoction. He wrinkled his nose and finished, “…making cake?”

          Ian shrugged again, his cheeks still pink. “I wanted dessert,” he said honestly.

          “At two in the morning?”

          Ian gave him one of his helpless looks, the kind that made him look like a big dumb puppy and turned Mickey to butter. He spread his hands to add to the effect, and Mickey stepped back to get a better look at him. His stupid fucking boyfriend, still holding a box mix and an egg, in just a large t-shirt and his boxers, flushing slightly but looking nevertheless determined, with flour all over himself—including in his hair. Mickey didn’t want to ask, but before he could stop himself, he blurted out, “You taking your meds?”

          Ian’s awkwardness immediately melted and contorted into anger. “Yes,” he snapped, slamming the box mix down on the counter so hard that a little puffed out the top in a tiny cloud.  “Jesus, can I bake a fucking cake without you getting on my ass about it?”

          “Okay, okay,” Mickey conceded with his hands up, immediately reverting to soothing mode. “I was just…sorry. New prescription, just wanted to make sure you were okay.” Ian still looked peeved, so Mickey pressed a little closer and added, “Can I help you bake?”

          Ian unscrunched his face enough to raise an eyebrow at him, but he still sounded acidic when he asked, “You want to help me bake a cake?”

          Mickey shrugged. He reached for one of the big spoons on the counter, but cast another look at Ian before he picked it up. Ian afforded him a tiny head nod to show affirmation, and Mickey smiled a little at him when he lifted it.

          “So…how do we bake a cake?”

          Ian softened incrementally as he instructed Mickey to pour, or stir, or cut. At some point Mickey realized that Ian was sitting on the counter next to him and doing absolutely nothing while Mickey did all the work.

          “Are you gonna help me bake _your_ cake at all?” he asked, shooting Ian a glare while he mixed together more ingredients.

          Ian grinned. “Nope,” he said, and dipped a finger into the bowl, laughing and avoiding Mickey’s swat at his hand when he stuck his batter-covered finger into his mouth.

          After another few minutes Ian deemed that Mickey had stirred enough, took another taste of his work just to be sure, and pressed a hard kiss to his cheek to compensate when Mickey shot another irritated glance his way. He hopped off the counter and got a baking pan down off the shelf, and slid in behind Mickey to reach for the bowl full of batter.

          “What exactly do you think you’re doing?” Mickey asked, while Ian continued to box him in and work around him.

          He could feel Ian shrug, but his face was closer than he’d expected, and Ian was practically breathing into his ear when he answered, “Just helping you out,” and started pouring the batter into a pan.

          Mickey rolled his eyes. “Feels like you want _me_ to help _you_ out.” He pushed his ass back a little on where Ian was pressing up against him far closer than strictly necessary, and Ian huffed a little laugh.

          “Just helping you out,” he repeated, and Mickey rolled his eyes but let Ian continue what he was doing.

          Ian stepped back when he was done, put the cake in the oven and fiddled with the dials. Mickey just watched, his interrupted sleep catching up to him and effectively zoning him out, until Ian stepped back and hopped back up on the counter, now with the timer on the oven showing 45:00.

          “What now?” Mickey asked, snapping out of his stupor.

          “Now we wait.” Ian beamed innocently at him. “You can make the frosting now if you’re bored.”

          “Oh I can, can I?”

          Ian’s smile widened, and Mickey rolled his eyes. He followed Ian’s instructions anyway as he directed him to the vanilla, butter, and their box of confectioner’s sugar. He stirred and poured and mixed again until Ian seemed satisfied, and didn’t protest this time when Ian dipped a finger into the bowl and tasted it. He made a pleased sound when he popped his finger out of his mouth.

          “Good?” Mickey asked.

          Ian gestured at the bowl. “Try some yourself.”

          Mickey indulged in a scoop that was probably larger than necessary, but Ian was still smiling softly at him, so he kept eye contact as he licked all of it off—from his finger down to where it was dripping down his palm.

          Ian was still watching him when he finished, and he pointed at a spot near his chin when he lowered his hand. “Missed a spot,” he said quietly.

          Mickey scrubbed the back of his hand over his chin and came away with a smear of frosting. He licked that off too. Ian only shook his head, and Mickey scrubbed harder, apparently to no avail because Ian just gestured him closer.

          As Mickey stepped up in front of him where he was sitting on the counter, Mickey let his hands fall to his thighs, spreading them until he could fit between. Ian reached up, palm cradling his cheek as his thumb slid over his bottom lip to wipe away the bit of frosting Mickey had missed. Ian slipped the pad of his thumb over his own lips and sucked the frosting away, and Mickey watched him raptly. Even when Ian lowered his hand, Mickey’s eyes remained trained on his mouth.

          “All good?” he asked, sounding dazed even to himself.

          Ian stared at him for a few seconds, then said simply, “I missed some.”

          Mickey swallowed. “Should take care of that.”

          Ian didn’t nod, or speak, or do anything at all before he leaned down and kissed him, fitting his lips firmly to Mickey’s. Mickey wasn’t sure exactly where he had gone right in life to wind up standing in his kitchen at half past two in the morning, kissing his boyfriend in nothing but his boxers, but he had to admit that he didn’t have any protests—at least until Ian swiped his tongue over Mickey’s bottom lip and pulled away just as Mickey was preparing for the kiss to get really good.

          “The fuck?” He mumbled mostly to himself and dug his nails into where his hands had landed on Ian’s bare thighs.

          Ian laughed a little and licked his lips to finish off the frosting on them. “Just trying to be helpful,” he said happily, seemingly unfazed by both Mickey’s glare and their kiss.

          Mickey huffed. “I’ve got a way to help me out,” he pressed closer to the counter, further between Ian’s thighs, “and it ain’t by teasing me.”

          Ian’s snickering was cut short by Mickey leaning up and silencing him with his lips, and Ian was into it immediately, his hands—still caked in flour—sliding smoothly into Mickey’s hair so he was cradling his jaw and holding him in place at the same time. Mickey dug his nails further into Ian’s thighs and pressed up to kiss him harder. He felt Ian’s arms slide around his waist instead, tugging him in until he was all pressed up against the countertop, and still trying to get closer.

          “Ian,” he sighed.

          He scratched down the bare part of his thighs while he did it. When he slid his hands back up, towards his waist, he felt Ian’s breath hitch where their mouths were moving together. He did it again, sliding all the way up to his hips. Ian’s lips parted against his, and Mickey traced his tongue over his lip, teasing him with barely a touch of it. Ian’s grip on him tightened and one of his hands ran up Mickey’s back, encouraging him when Mickey licked into his mouth, fingers threading through Ian’s hair to keep him still.

          Ian let Mickey move him, not putting up a fight when he angled his head or tugged his hips closer, just sliding his hand up over his back or his arm around his neck, accommodating him. Mickey pressed as close as he could to the counter, keeping Ian from falling off when he pulled him almost to the edge and tore off his shirt, kissing him hard again as soon as his lips were clear. Ian’s thighs were pressing up hard on his hips and Mickey wanted him closer; he hiked his legs up around his waist until Ian wrapped them around him, eliciting a moan from Ian that had Mickey constricting his grip on his hair even more, probably to the point of nearly painful but Ian didn’t seem to be complaining. He wound one arm around Mickey’s neck instead, clumsily keeping him close. Mickey untwisted the hand in his hair and ran it over the back of Ian’s hand where he had put it on the counter for balance.

          Ian was trying to roll his hips forwards into Mickey’s but couldn’t from his position; Mickey chuckled and hoisted him closer, higher up on his waist, and felt the exact moment that Ian slipped off the counter completely—his grip on his neck tightened, the legs around his waist tensed, and they fell to the floor still wrapped around each other. Ian hit the jar of flour as he fell, knocking it off the counter as well, and they collapsed together without ever letting go of each other completely.

          Mickey did release Ian once he was flat on his back, looking around the disaster zone. They both had white all over them and the floor was a mess of cake ingredients.

          “We’re laying in flour,” Mickey laughed. He grabbed a handful and let it fall back through his fingers.

          Ian was laughing even as he leaned in again, hands cupping Mickey’s face and his knees bracketing his hips on either side. He nuzzled his nose against Mickey’s for a second before capturing his lips again, and Mickey promptly forgot what was so funny; he sighed into the kiss, tilting his chin up to cover Ian’s mouth more completely.

          “Love you,” Ian whispered, and Mickey felt his hand slip inside his boxers a moment later. He leaned his head back against the floor, and Ian’s lips moved down over his throat. Ian’s fingers were teasing and light, and Mickey spread his legs wider, wanting.

          He almost whined when Ian’s hand slipped out of his underwear, but when he opened his eyes, he saw Ian watching him steadily and licking the palm of his hand in fat strokes. Mickey swallowed hard, staring back, and Ian smiled a little as he tucked his face back into his neck and slipped his hand back down.

          “Had flour all over me,” Ian whispered into his neck, and Mickey snorted a laugh that quickly cut off when Ian started to stroke him.

          Mickey slid his hands up over his hips, gripping tight at his waist for a second before sliding around to squeeze his ass. He rolled his hips up minutely, into Ian’s hand, and tilted his head to the side. Ian took the hint and leaned up, pressing a soft kiss to his mouth.

          “Thanks for staying up with me,” Ian whispered. “Didn’t have to.”

          Mickey swallowed. “Couldn’t sleep,” he murmured back. “Bed’s cold without you.”

          Ian’s face split into a wide smile, and he ducked down to trail kisses along Mickey’s jaw, down his throat to his collarbone. Mickey let go of his ass to scratch lightly at his hair, but Ian remained gentle where his mouth was pressed above his chest.

          Mickey was still hardening under Ian’s hand, more so because of his mouth kissing a line back up his neck and nibbling on his ear. He twisted a hand into his hair, keeping him there teasing his neck for the moment. He could feel Ian chuckling breathily against his throat but didn’t care, his eyes slipping closed. Having Ian all over him was making his body flush pleasantly warm, and it was late, the world silent—he wanted to enjoy it, even if it made Ian laugh. Maybe especially then.

          After a few minutes of Ian kissing at his neck and stroking him slow, Mickey was starting to get louder. He could tell it was spurring Ian on, and that he intended to finish him like this, on the kitchen floor. Instead of letting him, Mickey pushed his hands into Ian’s chest, easing him away. Ian sat up immediately, head slanting in curiosity.

          “You okay?” Ian asked. He sounded out of breath for no reason at all.

          Mickey didn’t answer. Instead, he sat up, arms slipping low around Ian’s waist to keep him steady as he shifted him further back in his lap. Mickey caught him in a slow, gentle kiss that he kept up as he eased Ian to the side and onto his back. He stretched his legs over him so that he was the one straddling Ian instead, though Mickey sat back further than he had, shifting until his ass was over Ian’s cock. Ian’s lips parted infinitesimally, his hands stroking up his sides and raking back down to settle on his hips.

          “Mm, gonna fuck you later,” Mickey sighed, tilting his closed eyes up towards the ceiling as he began to rock his hips over Ian’s, minutely at first, ass tight over where he could feel Ian already so hard for him. “After this. Gonna get you all hard for me, wanting me, and take you back to bed… _shit_. Ian...”

          Ian was stroking his waist encouragingly, the bare skin over his waistband, grinding up on him and helping move his hips where he wanted them.

          “Fuck, Mick,” Ian panted. “You feel so fucking good.”

          Mickey peered down at him, smiling softly as he kept rocking back on him. His mouth dropped out a little when Ian’s hand went back to his dick, jerking him off while he kept rutting down on him, and he let out a little moan.

          “Not as good as you on me,” Mickey breathed. “Shit, shit, Ian. So good. So fucking good. Fuckin’ hard on my ass, and… _Ian_.”

          Ian’s free hand was trailing up his back, scratching down his ribs and along his side, reaching around to squeeze his ass. Mickey inhaled sharply every time he did, imagining Ian just like this but inside him too, and he wanted so much his breathing was shallowing noticeably.

          “Gonna…” Mickey forgot what he was saying as soon as the word was past his lips, and he licked at them, trying to clear his head. “Gonna…Ian, I’m…”

          Ian was nodding, and he canted his hips up to grind up on his ass harder. Mickey tipped his head back and moaned loud in the quiet kitchen. Ian was panting, swearing under his breath, and Mickey couldn’t hear anything but him, feel anything but Ian beneath and on and around him.

          “I love you,” Mickey gasped. “Fuck, shit, I love you so much.”

          One last stroke of his cock and breathy whisper of his name and Mickey was coming. He rolled his hips back hard on Ian’s dick as he did, and Ian kept jacking him until he was spent, breathing hard on top of him on the kitchen floor.

          After a half minute, he pulled his boxers back up and scrambled backwards to lay between Ian’s legs and finally get at his dick. He yanked his boxers down gracelessly, already too hungry for it, and promptly swallowed him down.

          “Ah, fuck,” Ian gasped, rocking his hips up further into Mickey’s mouth, back arching on the cold floor at the haste, the desperate need of it. Mickey raked his blunt nails down Ian’s ribs, sucked him down harder, swallowed hard around his cock.

          He could hear Ian sighing and groaning and whispering his name, while Mickey touched on every sensitive part of him the way only he could from so many years together. His tongue, his lips, his throat, working Ian to the edge as fast as he could while still making him feel as good as possible. After several minutes, when Mickey was all the way down deepthroating him as much as he could, Ian twisted his hands hard in Mickey’s hair to keep him tethered and effectively stopped the steady bobbing he’d been doing with his head. Mickey let him rock against his face as best as he could for a few seconds, breathing hard, before he gave a guttural moan and came hard down Mickey’s throat.

          Ian released him when he slumped back to the ground, and Mickey eased off of him slowly. He pressed a kiss to the inside of Ian’s thigh before sitting up, patting his hair where Ian had tugged too hard and left him slightly sore.

          “Sorry,” Ian breathed, watching him rub his scalp. “Didn’t mean to…pull that hard.”

          Mickey laughed softly. “It’s okay.” He gave a tiny shrug. “Liked it.”

          Ian smiled crookedly at him, and Mickey bit down on his bottom lip to keep from smiling too widely just from that. They just looked at each other for a second before Mickey twisted until the counter was behind him and he could lean his head back, shuffling Ian’s legs out of the way to do so, and they fell into silence for awhile. After a few minutes collecting himself, he grabbed the countertop to help pull him to his feet.

          Mickey glanced at the timer over the stove. “Still got ten minutes left,” he said, jerking his head at the clock. He raised his eyebrows playfully. “Lots of time, and us, just bored here in the kitchen…”

          Ian jerked his boxers back on and sat up. He pulled his knees to his chest and wrapped his arms around them and asked in a monotone, “Oh, no. What are we gonna do until then?”

          Mickey mirrored his wicked little smile back at him and grabbed his hand when he raised it, pulling Ian up and flush against him.

          “Don’t know,” he said, hands falling down to Ian’s waist, head tilting closer already so their noses brushed. “Long time with nothing to do…”

          Ian’s laugh got lost in Mickey’s lips when he pressed them to his, kissing him more gently than he had earlier. He felt Ian’s hands on his sides, and then he was being pressed into the counter and Ian’s hands were in his hair instead, and Mickey sighed, his lip falling between Ian’s. Ian sucked on it like the move was instinctual, and Mickey tugged him closer and flicked his tongue out, waiting until Ian let his lip go before licking into his mouth.

          They kissed until the timer rang out over the oven, and even then Ian kept him close, pressing little kisses to his mouth while Mickey smiled and gently ran his fingertips over his jaw and cheek.

          “Gonna get all burnt,” Mickey mumbled between kisses.

          Ian’s nose bumped his when he turned his head the other way and went back in.

          “Don’t care,” he murmured, and pressed his lips back to Mickey’s smile.

          They kept trading small kisses back and forth for a few more minutes, mumbling sweet words and sweeter praise and kissing, kissing, kissing. Finally, Mickey groaned and pulled back as much as he could in the cage of Ian’s arms.

          “Gonna burn,” he said insistently, even as he stretched up to kiss him again. “Spent…all this time on it and you’re…gonna burn my fucking cake.”

          “Don’t care,” Ian whispered again, nuzzling the side of his face before pressing his lips to his jaw, to right beside his nose, to his lips again. “Don’t care, I wanna…” He did it again, a quick bump of their lips. “…wanna keep kissing you.”

          A little laugh escaped him as he leaned up to kiss Ian more firmly, fingers tight on his waist again before he pulled away. Ian grabbed after him but barely brushed his shoulder, and Mickey made it the three steps to the oven without being further accosted.

          “Come back,” Ian whined, making an aborted gesture for him once more.

          Mickey threw an unmoved glance over his shoulder. “I just spent an hour on this fucking cake. I’m taking it out and I’m _not_ letting you ruin it.”

          “My cake,” Ian corrected. “It’s _my_ cake and I don’t care if you ruin it. Come _back_.”

          He spoke like Mickey was oceans away, or hell, even more than just a few steps from him. Mickey just shook his head as he reached for oven mitts and bent to pull the cake out and set it down on the stovetop to cool. He hadn’t even pulled the mitts off yet when he felt Ian mold himself to his back, arms slipping around his waist. He pressed a kiss to the side of his neck before angling his mouth closer to his ear and whispering,

          “Ready to be all mine now?”

          Mickey tilted his head to the side and made a little humming noise like he was deep in thought. He cut off in a full body shudder when Ian starting nibbling on his ear, and slipped his hands over Ian’s wrists to keep him pulled tight against his body.

          “Hmm?” Ian pressed, now fluttering kisses over his neck. He found a spot low on his throat and started to suck, and Mickey gave a breathy half-moan, hips canting back automatically into his.

          “Think…” He trailed off to collect his thoughts when Ian moved on, mouthing at other soft spots on his neck, moving up to nip at his jaw. “Think I’m already all yours.”

          He felt Ian’s smile bloom and then he was being spun around, Ian still fully pressed against him as he laid his hands over Mickey’s cheeks and pulled him up into a proper kiss. Mickey slid his hands into Ian’s hair, tugging until Ian’s mouth dropped open and he could suck on his tongue. Ian made a grunt of assent, pulling him tighter to his chest.

          “Think you should...” Ian was panting when Mickey pulled away to scatter kisses across his cheeks and jaw. He waited patiently for him to collect his thoughts. “Think I should take you up on what you said before about taking me back to bed…”

          Mickey laughed and nuzzled his face into Ian’s neck. He looped his arms around his back and squeezed, and a second later felt Ian automatically hugging him back.

          “Love you,” Mickey mumbled, pressing a kiss to his neck, his chin, his lips. “Love you.”

          Ian’s smile was soft when he looked at him. “Love you too, baby,” he whispered.

          Mickey allowed one more kiss before he pulled away, though not too far, and slipped his hand down to entwine his fingers through Ian’s. Ian’s pout at the loss of the kissing vanished, and he smiled right before Mickey turned to lead him out of the kitchen.

          “That cake’s gonna be stuck in the pan by morning. I didn’t use nonstick,” Ian said, as Mickey pulled him through into their bedroom.

          Mickey let go of his hand and pushed him towards the bed, shutting the door and finding Ian already climbed into bed by the time he turned around. Mickey crawled beneath the sheets and snuggled immediately up to his side.

          “Yeah?” he asked, pulling Ian’s arm around his shoulders and slipping his hand beneath the covers to splay over his bare chest.

          Ian nuzzled his nose against the side of his face. “Yeah,” he whispered back, and kissed him on the cheek.

          Mickey smiled and lifted his head, and Ian did not disappoint: he covered his mouth with his own, just a quick peck before Mickey ducked back down to nestle into his neck.

          “Don’t care,” he muttered. He yawned and pressed impossibly closer, slipping one of his legs over Ian’s and tangling them together. “Wanna be here with you.”

          Ian hummed and pressed one more kiss to his temple before they both settled in to finally go back to sleep.

          In the morning, the cake was completely dried into the pan, and they needed ten minutes and two different types of knives to carve it out. Mickey didn’t mind; Ian was worth a little missed sleep, and in the end everything turned out sugary sweet.

**Author's Note:**

> [hmu ily](http://badlandd.tumblr.com) :*


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